Commonwealth's Genesis
by DwemerSteelBlade
Summary: SPARTAN-D053 was on his way to a Covenant-controlled colony world when a slipspace bomb goes off. Lost in the wasteland, with nothing but his armor and wits, he must learn to accept this new world. (Rated M for drugs, swearing, and some other stuff.)
1. Chapter I

**SPARTAN-D053**

 **Sigma Squad Recon Team (SSRT)**

 **UNSC Destroyer-Class Ship** _ **Beacon of Hope**_ **, Terra System**

 **1343 Standard Military Time**

SPARTAN-D053 had been described as the Grim Reaper, a phantom of death. Where ever he went, taken lives followed. His reputation was nothing short of terrifying and his career horrifying. A Delta-Company SPARTAN-III.

He, along with 99 other candidates had been taken from their homes to serve in the Human-Covenant war. He was one of the lucky 44 who survived the training. The Delta company program had training rough enough to rival the SPARTAN-IIs'.

"Breaches in hull sectors three and four!" shouted a lieutenant. The lieutenant was a young and cowardly man, who had hardly any combat experience except for the rare occasions that he was in the shooting range, usually from peer pressure. That lead to the Delta company SPARTAN's confusion as to how in the world he had survived this long in the war, let alone gain the title of lieutenant.

"Shut all blast doors that could lead to depressurization! Everyone, to their battle stations!" said Captain Armin, a Hungarian man that had survived long enough to reach 48. He always wore a pristine, crisp white suit, but wasn't afraid to don the standard marine or ODST armor. This earned him respect in the SPARTAN's mind, as a leader couldn't see themselves apart from their troops or else they wouldn't be effective.

He had said the last part into the ship-wide COMM system, his voice steady and calm but carrying a certain urgency to it. "Multiple Covenant forces docking at dock six!" said a younger man from across the bridge. This caught the otherwise silent SPARTAN's ear. "Sir, should I take care of it?" he asked, his voice, the one of a very young man, carrying professionalism through and through.

"No," came the Captain's response, "You'll be more valuable here in the bridge. We already have a platoon of marines on the way." The SPARTAN, while thinking he should be fighting right now, saw the logic in that. They needed to save their most powerful weapons for last, as even the weakest of the _Beacon of Hope_ 's weapons were comparable to MAC guns, or Mass Accelerator Cannons.

"Very well, sir," the SPARTAN responded coolly. His outward appearance was calm, yet albeit tense for an attack at any second. Years of combat had taught him that even if you don't expect a fight, always be ready for one. No such thing as paranoia in the UNSC.

His trigger finger twitched in anticipation. The SPARTAN would admit that he himself was a bit of a psychopath, rage at the Covenant over-ruling any sort of military order or discipline on the field at times. He was by no means the most reckless of Delta company, nor the most disciplined. He was a mix of both.

"Covenant have breached all external defenses! Orders?" came a crackling marine voice over the COMMs. The screen showed that it was GySgt Mason Cooke. "Fall back. I am authorizing a MAC round," said the Captain, a growl rising in his voice. For a brief millisecond, a moment to the SPARTAN-III, the GySgt hesitated but responded, "Understood."

"Ready the MAC gun and aim directly at the turrets when they fire," ordered Armin, narrowing his eyes.

From the bridge's external cameras and view, the SPARTAN-III could see that they were turning around, facing the Covenant ship. There multiple groans from the _Beacon of Hope_ 's infrastructure, due to the damage sustained on the port side. "Thruster seven just went offline!" reported a voice from the back of the bridge. "Szar," muttered the Captain.

"Can we still fire the MAC gun accurately?" demanded Armin, not looking away from the Covenant ship coming into view. "Affirmative, sir, but not without difficulty," responded the voice, now recognized as an engie. "Good," said Armin coolly. "Covenant ship within range!" reported a bald man in a white outfit. "Fire the MAC gun now," commanded the Captain.

And they did. A massive, yellow-energy-surrounded slug shot from the front of the _Beacon of Hope_ 's front, headed dead-center for the Covenant ship. Time seemed to slow for the SPARTAN-III as he watched the MAC slug. As expected, it slammed into the head of the Covenant ship, bursting through its shields and going clean through the hull.

A young man from the front confirmed what the SPARTAN-III was thinking, "Enemy ship offline, sir! Now we simply have to deal with remaining Covenant forces aboard our ship!"

 **0-0-0**

The SPARTAN-III raced down the hallways, sniper rifle and BR in hand. Sirens were blaring on the roof, a constant reminder of the attack. Platoons of marines followed him, ready for combat. They were heading for docking bay 002, currently a Covenant hold-out since they couldn't retreat to their ship.

He skidded around a corner, his heavy MJOLNIR creating heavy _**thumps**_ against the standard-grey floor. "Go, go, go!" ordered a Sergeant. They stopped at a locked door, presumably cutting off their path to the docking bay. "Any way to get this door opened?" asked the Sergeant. The SPARTAN-III nodded and walked backward.

The marines understood what he would do and backed away, giving him a wide berth. The Sergeant did the same. The SPARTAN-III then sprinted at his top speed into the heavy grade-C titanium door, creating a seven-foot-tall dent in it. To the SPARTAN-III's surprise, though, it didn't budge. He backed up, and slammed into the door again, pleased to see it fly backwards and slam into two grunts, killing them.

"Weaklings," the SPARTAN-III muttered. The Sergeant and the platoons of marines swarmed into the Docking bay, firing at every singly stray Covenant. He ran into action, his golden shields activating the instance a projectile hit him. In this case, it was a needler round.

"Behind cover, marines!" shouted the Sergeant, ducking behind a crate carrying extra ammo. The SPARTAN-III sprinted behind a warthog, headshotting three grunts on the way. "Pop goes the weasel!" shouted a marine.

The SPARTAN heard the familiar sound of plasma searing metal, probably from a grunt or elite or jackal. They were usually the races that used the super-heated material. His shields popped into existence again due to a spike from the spiker weapon of a stray brute.

The SPARTAN-III popped his head out of cover and fired shots at said brute, killing it with practiced precision and ease. Suddenly, he felt something like a hammer hit him in the side, and then an explosion, causing him to fly backwards and out of cover.

It had been a grenade from a bruteshot. _There are multiple brutes?_ he thought. He quickly realized he had fallen out of cover. He flipped to his feet, reaching for his BR. Before he managed to get it, two plasma shots managed to reach him and landed on his right leg. He hissed in pain but shoved it down, ignoring the searing sensation that was crawling up his appendage.

He looked up and saw a team of elites carry something that resembled a bomb. From his time on NOBLE team, he recognized it as a slipspace bomb. His eyes widened slightly behind his visor, but he remained focused. "The Covenant have brought aboard a slipspace bomb," he reported into his COMM to the captain.

"What!?" he heard the Captain shout, right before an elite activated it. After that, it was all black.

 _May God help us all._

 _ **AN: Yes! My OC was in NOBLE team. He doesn't replace SPARTAN-B312 as Noble Six – he was more of the stealth expert in the team, Noble Seven. So, uh, yeah.**_

 _ **Reviews are appreciated! So, please do! :D**_

 _ **PS: How'd you like my OC?**_


	2. Chapter II

_**AN: This fanfic will include all my modded weapons and armor, therefore you'll see a lot of stuff that's not in the base games. The most used ones are available on the XB1, the platform I play one.**_

 _ **Mods (Not official names):**_

 _ **MR7 Factor**_

 _ **Strigidae Armor**_

 _ **Institute Expeditionary Armor (IEX)**_

 _ **M1 Garand**_

 _ **Scar-H**_

 _ **PS: The MR7 Factor is a modular weapon, so in Fallout 4, I made, like, ten Factors and then modified them to suit different purposes, along with some other guns. The ones you'll mainly see in this fic are the following:**_

 _ **M4 Baron (Automatic Factor variant)**_

 _ **VN8C Wave (Medium Range Factor variant)**_

 _ **ST3 Warrior (Sniper Factor Variant)**_

 _ **M1C Star (M1 Garand Variant)**_

 _ **A53 Vengeance (Scar-H Variant)**_

 **SIGMA SQUAD RECON TEAM (SSRT)**

 **ARMOR BURST MESSAGING: SOS, SOS, SOS, SOS, SOS**

 **LOCATION: UNKNOWN X & Y CO-ORDINATES**

 **STATUS: GREEN**

 **SPARTAN-D053's POV**

I woke up on a hard, metal surface. I was in a dent, signifying I had landed fairly hard. The armor lock of my MK VII STEALTH armor managed to keep my insides in, but knocked me unconscious when I hit the ground. There was a dull thumping in the back of my head, causing me to sit straight up and instinctively rub where the pain was, even though my helmet was in the way.

I looked around, seeing that I was in some sort of… construction sight. What caught my attention was the fact that all the plants were brown, and the trees and shrubs were all bare. Maybe some sort of weird planet? Possible. But all the tools and vehicles in the construction weren't standard issue UNSC ones – they weren't UNSC at all.

"Is it alive?" I heard someone whisper. I jumped to my feet, reaching for my weapons. Only to realize I had none. They must've been lost in the fall, or destroyed in the slipspace explosion. I reached down into my metal boot and slipped out the combat knife I had been carrying. Thankfully, it was in an air-tight section, therefore it couldn't have fallen out.

I spun it my hand, switching it to a reverse grip in my right, then pinpointed where the voice had come from. It had come from behind a yellow vehicle with a massive, mechanical arm on the back. I silently crept up to the side, flattening my body against the metal noiselessly. I heard rustling from behind it, as if someone was trying to get away. _Now's the time_ , I thought.

I leapt upwards and vaulted over the top of the vehicle, falling down right behind who had been whispering. I could tell by her rather slender frame that the person was female. She had blood red hair tied up in a ponytail, and was wearing some sort of blue jumpsuit with the numbers '111' on the back. Maybe a subject of an experiment? The SPARTAN-II project and the SPARTAN-III Delta Company included jumpsuits that had their numbers, but in no style like this.

The jumpsuits were either black, grey, olive, or tan. There were no blue ones. "Halt!" I exclaimed. The female stopped dead in her tracks and turned around, albeit slowly. She had glowing blue eyes and freckles dotting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

"Yes?" she enunciated, as if I didn't speak the same language. "You're alignment – UNSC or Insurrectionist?" I demanded, moving the combat knife so the glint caught her eye. Even though humanity was caught in a life-or-death situation with the Covenant, the Insurrectionists had seen this as a chance to destroy the UNSC and make their own government. Fortunately, they had failed, yet some remnants remained on the inner colonies that hadn't been glassed. Yet.

"Huh?" she made a genuinely confused expression. "I said UNSC or Insurrectionist?" I growled, making myself even more imposing. "Neither?" she said in. She must be a really good actor. "What's this planet?" I asked, trying to see if she would slip some sort of information. "Earth," she looked at me as if I was nuts.

That's odd. Maybe I'm in a sort of hallucination. "Year?" I asked. "Uh…" she checked a small, wrist-mounted device on her left arm, "2287."

She, too, looked surprised, but not as if this was earth shattering. I'll just let this play out. "I will be on my way, then," I concluded, seeing no importance in this woman. "Uh, wait!" she exclaimed, as I was about turn around. This could be an ambush. "Yes?" I asked, facing her, tensing in anticipation of an attack.

"Could I go with you? I sort of… just got of the Vault, and really have no idea on survival or anything, I just know how to fire this gun," she said pulled out a pistol. It wasn't drawn to me, so I sensed no threat. "Can I have it for a minute?" I asked. She nodded and handed it over. Rookie mistake. She was really speaking the truth about having no idea how to survive, as no Insurrectionist would hand their gun over to a SPARTAN.

I examined it. "Seems to be a 10mm pistol. I could mod this," I said, slightly astonished by the modularity that came with the gun. Standard UNSC weaponry were made to be sturdy and resilient, which came with the hand-off of not being able to be modded.

This pistol carried standard 21st century civilian ballistic ammunition, which meant I really was either in the past or some sort of alternate reality. I handed her back the weapon, and saw the she was practically begging in her eyes.

I was a SPARTAN, entitled to protect humanity no matter what the cost, be it a bullet or my own life. I couldn't just leave her out here with nothing but, by the looks of it, some sort of jumpsuits, a few bullets for the pistol, and the aforementioned armament in what seemed to be an apocalypse. That's why I decided this.

"You can come along, but you leave when you think you can fend for yourself," I sighed, knowing that anybody I brought along could be a liability. But still. "Thank you so much!" she exclaimed, and ran at me. For a second, I thought she was going to try to charge me, which I thought was a dumb move since I weighed half a ton and she probably weighed around 57 kilograms, so she would barely even register on my shields as a threat.

To my surprise though, she threw her arms around my neck – a rather difficult feat for her considering my height – and hugged me. "Welcome aboard," I grunted, waiting for the hug to be over.

 _ **AN: So, watcha think? Oh, and if you want to make the custom weapons, I'll write all the things down below. Everything below this is just the weapon modifications, so if you have the mod installed, you can use the weapons SPARTAN-D053 will use! :D Reviews are appreciated!**_

 _ **PS: The weapon names are based off of their paints. And they are fairly costly in terms of materials – I've finished the game already, but trying to make these weapons isn't easy when you're in the first half of the game. Lastly, some of these will make ZERO sense unless you have the mod installed and have found the weapon.**_

 _ **M4 Baron –**_

 _ **Calibrated Receiver**_

 _ **Automatic Heavy Barrel (Class)**_

 _ **Stock for combined actions (perfect fit)**_

 _ **Tactical Sights**_

 _ **No Zoom**_

 _ **Very Close to Sigh**_

 _ **Extended Magazine**_

 _ **No muzzle attachment**_

 _ **No damage modifiers**_

 _ **No legendary modifications**_

 _ **Red Baron (Worn)**_

 _ **VN8C Wave –**_

 _ **Calibrated Receiver**_

 _ **Heavy Barrel**_

 _ **Stock for combined actions (perfet fit_**_

 _ **Hybird Sights**_

 _ **Extended Magazine**_

 _ **Very close to the sigh**_

 _ **No Damage Modifier**_

 _ **No Legendary Modification**_

 _ **Master of the Depts (Worn)**_

 _ **ST3 Warrior –**_

 _ **Calibrated Receiver**_

 _ **Heavy Barrel**_

 _ **Stock from combined actions (perfect fit)**_

 _ **Optical Sights**_

 _ **Snake Charmer (Worn)**_

 _ **Very close to the sigh**_

 _ **No legendary modifications**_

 _ **No Damage modifiers**_

 _ **Extended Magazine**_

 _ **Note: If they other guns are requested, then I'll list them. Until then, see ya guys!**_


	3. Chapter III

**SIGMA SQUAD RECON TEAM**

 **ARMOR STATUS: GREEN**

 **SPARTAN-D053'S POV**

We came across an abandoned store that seemed to have been a gun range at some point in recent history. It seemed decrepid, and a large part of it had collapsed, so I could kiss those weapons good-bye. What really annoyed me, though, is that the part that had imploded was the part that housed all the relatively good weapons. Many of them would be stocked because no matter where you are, the higher the quality, the more the price.

I rummaged through a steamer trunk while my companion, whose name I found out was Autumn, practiced her competence with her gun at a firing range, which had surprisingly managed to stay mostly intact. I finally felt something like a grip slip into my grasp. I gently pulled out it out of the trunk, careful because of the condition it might be in.

I pulled out a sort of sniper rifle. I was pleasantly surprised, since my role in the SSRT was usually as artillery, support, or a sniper. It had khaki-olive cross color, and a suppressor on the barrel. As I expected, though, the weapon itself was in fairly poor state. Some of the paint was chipped off, with pieces of the receiver and stock broken off. There was no mag… well, not a full one. There was a magazine already in the weapon, but it had been broken in half. I gingerly shook it and some bullet cases rolled out onto my outstretched hand.

I inspected them, trying to see what type they were. "5.56 rounds. Huh," I grunted. This only served to help me guess that this was truly the past, as these types of bullets had their production stopped in the 24th century. Another thing I was surprised by was how modifiable and modular each weapon was. Just from looking at it, I could already think of seven mods I could apply. I snapped it on my lower back, determined to restore to its former glory at a later date.

I quickly returned to rummaging through the trunk and found some sort of rifle, though it seemed to be made of things someone had taken off a street in New Mombasa. It was crude and rusted, though it seemed to be in working condition. Thankfully, it also had a mag already loaded in, allowing me to see the bullet caliber. I quickly fired a shot into a target in the firing range, right next to where Autumn was firing, making sure that it still worked. I quickly grabbed the bullet case that had slid out of the gun.

"Those are .38 rounds," said Autumn, seeing what I was doing. "And how do you know this?" I asked, an eyebrow raised behind my faceplate. "My husbanded used to be in the military, and he…" she said, trailing off. "Died during service?" I finished, my interest piqued. Autumn gave me an odd look, but shook her head no. "He had kept a stash of weapons in the closet due to the war, and taught me how to use them and identify the bullets. He's… not around anymore," she finished sadly.

I got the sense she didn't want to linger on the topic, so I merely shrugged and looked around for more drum mags that resembled the one already inserted. I had noticed she said military and not UNSC. As back home, there was no real military other than the UNSC, and the Insurrection was more of just a group of people united under a single cause, and not organized and any real way. The only other groups that she could've meant were minor paramilitary organizations, none even holding a candle to the UNSC.

I found three other mags, and decided that was enough since I couldn't find any more. I looked over my shoulder, checking on Autumn. From the looks of it, she was decent with a gun. I'd say about 60% of her bullets hit the target. "Hey, wanna try it?" she asked, noticing my gaze. "Why not?" I concluded, putting the extra drum mags in my pouches. While I didn't want to waste any ammo, I needed to test if my skills were just as sharp. Many SPARTANs who fall from orbit sometimes have lasting damage that prevent them from doing their duties. And a little target practice has never hurt anyone.

I was hoping for the best as I pulled out the junk rifle. I walked up to the counter and fired with one hand, trying to make it as hard as possible. "So, you're name?" she asked as she grabbed another 10mm mag off the counter. "Lieutenant Colonel Grade 2 SPARTAN Delta 053," I rattled off my military rank and dog tag, hitting dead center on the target. She seemed rather impressed with my skill but made no comment on it. "I asked for a name, not a rank," she responded patiently, lowering her pistol. "That is my name, but if you wish for a birth name, you can call me Aero. That's my codename," I replied, firing the rifle again.

"My husband's rank was Brigadier Grade 2," she smiled sadly, saying that out of the blue. To me, when it came to skill, I should've been above her husband since no unaugmented human could match a SPARTAN in physical feats, but the SPARTAN branch of the military was separate to the rest, which meant that our highest ranks weren't as high as the ones in, say, the Navy or Army. "So… one question," she said hesitantly, as if she wasn't sure that she wanted to know. "What's a SPARTAN?" she asked. I weighed my options in my head. Back home, my automatic response would be a 'Classified', but here, there didn't seem to be SPARTANs or a SPARTAN project at all.

And this world, from what I've seen, didn't seem to have the same level of technology I was used to, like the slipspace Fujikawa drive or SPARTAN armor. So I took a gamble and decided to tell her. "It's a long story," I responded. "Well, it's not like we have to go anywhere," she said sarcastically. "Fine," I concluded.

"A SPARTAN is the result of a SPARTAN project. Last I remember, there had only been two official ones, the SPARTAN-II and III ones," I explained from the start, trying to simplify it. "So that's how you got the armor?" she asked. "The armor comes later. SPARTANs are taken in and trained in your standard educational courses, as well as tactical warfare, stealth, teamwork, weapon, wilderness survival, and some other ones," I said.

"So you were taken at your later years, like 18 or 19, right?" she asked, seeming to sense the reality o the SPARTAN project. "No. The SPARTAN-IIs were abducted from their homes, while the SPARTAN-IIIs were taken once their families had been slaughtered," I responded with out a hint of emotion in my voice.

This, although she had probably been expecting this, caught her off-guard and caused her to stumble backwards, as if she was a one of those drunk marines I had seen aboard UNSC ships. "But they were nearly adults, right?" she said, her eyes becoming misty. "No, I was five when I decided to become a SPARTAN, and the SPARTAN-IIs were taken at ages five, six, or seven," I grunted, reloading the pipe rifle and clipping it to my back.

To my surprise, she actually threw up. I thought she was going to break down in tears, but no. She just threw up on the debris-riddled floor. "And your age?" she choked out, seemingly recovering from her disgust. "I believe… nineteen," I answered, forgetting my age for a second. She made an odd expression, a mixture between queasiness and sadness. She fell on the floor and leaned up against a shelf that had been holding cases to carry guns in.

Great. Now I needed to tend to her wounds.

 **AN: Fun fact. That's how my cousin responded when I told her the nature of the SPARTAN-II and III projects, so… :D**


	4. Chapter IV

_**AN: So, in the reviews, tell me which faction SPARTAN-D053 you think should join. Viable options are the Brotherhood of Steel, Institute, and Railroad. The Minutemen don't really count, as they're more of a back-up.**_

 _ **Oh, and fun fact. The route they'll be traveling is the same as the first time I play Fallout 4 – where they come across... I forgot the name of the place, but its flooded and is crawling with super mutants.**_

 _SIGMA SQUAD RECON TEAM (SSRT)_

 _SPARTAN-D053_

After we had raided the gun range of all salvageable armaments, we had decided to take the roads self. Much to my chagrin, the fall from orbit had knocked some armor systems offline that the onboard dumb AI couldn't bring back – which meant I would have to get out of my armor, use one of the many access panels, and delve into the technical depths of the MJOLNIR MK VII STEALTH.

I had spent some time pondering on whether I should hold on to the totaled remnants of the camo-colored weapon that I had found in the obliterated gun range. This took about five seconds, as I had decided to keep it since, even though the weapon was a fair bit alien in terms of tech, I thought I could restore it to working condition. Until then, I had to tote around the unwieldly rubbish weapon that Autumn had called a 'Pipe rifle'.

I helped my companion over a truck that had managed to swivel to the left and get itself stuck in between both sides of the bridge that we were on. As I had guessed, Autumn wasn't that good in terms of athleticism or self-defense, but she seemed to excel as a medic. I had basic-level knowledge of healing techniques, which wouldn't carry if one of us were heavily injured.

After her immedite shock from the SPARTAN programs, I went on to explain how we got the armor. This had caused a certain thought to pop into my head. The _Beacon of Hope_ had carried armor for SPARTAN-IVs in the armor bay – which was right next to the docking area. If the slipspace bomb had sent me into this hellscape, it could've possibly done the same to some of the armor, or at the very least some components. Any sort of UNSC gear would be better than what Autumn currently had on – a slightly revealing, paper-thin jumpsuit.

The jumpsuit itself had some padding but that was pretty much it. She needed to get some sort of armor.

"You seem distracted," Autumn pulled me out of my thoughts. I nodded. "What are you thinking about?" she asked. "Do you know how these weapons work?" I inquired, dodging her question. She gave me an odd look, then responded with "As far as I'm concerned, they're rubbish."

"I was talking about this," I snapped the worn sniper rifle off my back and into my left hand, holding it to her. She grabbed it and looked it over, holding it to the sun. The star's glare glinted off a part where the bare metal was exposed.

"From what I can tell, this is fairly advanced tech. But no, I don't really understand any weapon well," she said sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. I nodded in acknowledgement, grabbing the weapon and snapping it onto my back.

By now, we had exited the bridge. Grunting got my attention, which caused me to raise my hand for the military signal to halt. I doubted that Autumn knew military hand signals, but I believe she got the message, as I heard her stop.

I scanned the area and, to my astonishment, saw a humanoid shape. "Stay here. Find cover," I whispered loud enough for her to hear. Usually, I would've used the standard, gesture-like military code but, like before, I doubted Autumn would fully understand. I looked back and she nodded.

I responded with a nod, then crawled into cover behind a stationary car. I heard guttural voices, like a cross between the Brutes' and Elites'. "Zorok much stronger than Bukor!" shouted one loftily. "No! Bukor lift car!" responded a similar voice. I poked my head out of cover and saw the owners of these voices.

They were fairly humanoid, but that's where the similarities ended. They were 8 to 9 feet tall, and had wrinkly, thick green skin. They were awfully grotesque and seemed to be much more muscular than the average ODST. They were completely bald, and they're eyes gave off an eerie green glow. Most of them wore crude armor made of car hoods, tires, leathers, and sashes.

From what I had seen of this new world, it had been bombarded with radiation as most places I went, the Geiger counter in my armor always numbered at least 1 count. It resulted in the logical conclusion of these creatures being mutants, heavily impacted due to the ionizing radiation that seemed to be oh so common on this planet.

I could tell they were hostile due to the numerous human remains that they hung around their installation, acting like grotesque décor. There were numerous bags made from rope or chains that held bloody bones, skulls, and flesh of the poor saps that had wandered too close.

My mission was to protect humanity, and these things were a blatant threat. And threats had to be exterminated.

From the looks of it, the mutants were headstrong and weren't exactly genius tacticians. I could probably take on all of them fairly easily if I used their own tactics against them. The only things that truly worried me were two things; some of my armor's systems were offline, and I didn't know how reliable this 'pipe rifle' would be.

As I continued observing, my latter worry diminished as I saw multiple mutants holding rifles and missile launchers. While they weren't the majority – most of them were carrying weapons that they could use to bludgeon or slash enemies to death – there was still a good number of them.

I finally made the decision to take out the two fighting mutants first, as they would be a large problem for me had I decided to slip past them. I quickly used the pipe rifle as a makeshift sniper and aligned the crude sights to the first one's head.

"Bukor show Zorok how strong Bukor is! Bukor lift car!" shouted one, raised his arms. He suddenly turned towards me and quickly catches wind of my presence. "Human in super mutant ca-" he shouted before I finished him with a bullet to the forehead.

I'm guessing these things are called Super Mutants. I guess it's better than _just_ mutant. The Super Mutant's hulking body fell to the ground, blood leaking from its head. The one that the Mutant was talking to roared in rage and unsheathed what seemed like a torn floorboard with nails thrust through the back.

I quickly slid over the hood of the car and ran forward, my speed giving me the upper hand. They were extremely similar to brutes, preferring to kill indiscriminately and with, pardon the pun, brute force instead of actual strategy.

I strafed left as the Mutant slammed the floorboard where I had been. It bellowed another roar, most likely from anger deriving from his inability to hit me. It did this many more times until I could get a clear shot. I quickly ran up to him and onto its back, jumped up, and focused all my weight onto its neck. When I made contact, a sickening _**SNAP**_ came from it as its body fell limp.

To my chagrin, its roars had alerted many more of its kind. A bullet from another Mutant hit its mark, my shoulder, but my shields deflected it. "Puny human has technology!" shouted a guttural voice. I found it extremely amusing that all their voices, even to a SPARTAN-III, seemed almost identical.

I quickly ducked into cover and threw one of my grenades, managing to land it inside a group of Mutants that were pushing to my location. They didn't seem to notice it – a large mistake.

It detonated, and their bodies flew everywhere, a mess of guts, flesh, and bones. I had wisely decided to duck as I would have been coated with their innards had I not. I quickly peered up and saw that my cover had become painted red.

I quickly looked up to see Super Mutant wearing steel armor and had an elaborate headdress. It shouted out, in a deep and rumbling voice, "Kill the human!"


	5. Chapter V

**AN: Sorry about not posting much lately, since I haven't been feeling well. I had to stick to the couch for a while. So don't expect the frequent updates as usual for now – I'll try to update weekly or biweekly, depending on how well I'm feeling and how determined my family is on those days.**

 **In other news, I'm thinking of making a trip to Italy in the future. :P**

 **SIGMA SQUAD RECON TEAM (SSRT)**

 **SPARTAN-D053**

Autumn had her hand over her nose as she neared the numerous dead bodies of the "Super Mutants". She sloshed around in the ankle-deep water. The water was irradiated, so I was thankful that the jumpsuit she had on had water-proof boots that went up to her knees.

"Are you sure we have to do this?" she asked, her voice distorted as she glanced over the Mutant's carcass with a look that screamed 'I'm going to throw up.'

"This one had grenades, and I doubt you could mess that up," I stated matter-of-factly, no malice in my voice. She pouted for a second, then took a deep breath and looked over to the carcass. I couldn't since I wasn't sure if I had killed _all_ the Mutants here, and I didn't want Autumn to die simply because of my incompetence.

In the end, they had been head-strong fighters, easily dominated by skillful SPARTANs who used tactics. They were fairly easy to take down, but my opinion might have been a bit biased. You know, with all my armor, heavy-duty weapons, and shielding.

"Woah!" exclaimed Autumn as she grabbed something on the other side of the corpse. She pulled out a double-barrel shotgun. "Good find," I praised, keeping sentry. "You can have it – I'm not sure I can be trusted with this," she sloshed away from the mutant carcass and handed the weapon to me. "Did you find any ammo to go with it?" I asked. She didn't respond verbally, but opened her left hand to reveal 16 - 18 ammo shells.

I nodded my thanks and grabbed them. I dropped the pipe rifle, since it had jammed. I had kept it more for intimidation purposes, but I doubt that even I could look imposing with a weapon that looked like it had been constructed of the contents of a trash can.

I quickly snapped the barrel-portion open revealing two shells. They ejected out of the two slots and into the water, creating too small splashes. I quickly looked them over and decided that they had already been used, therefore useless to me.

I swiftly discarded them, then put two – relatively – fresh shells into the two slots. I then shut it, a resounding _**click**_ coming from the firearm. I fired once, and a hailstorm of bullets came out. "Works," I grunted, then reloaded it.

"Should we check in there?" asked Autumn, pulling me out of my examination. She was pointing towards a concrete-looking building with a pair of doors going inside.

"Could hold valuables," I nodded my affirmation. I strode over to the entrance, the water unable to combat the 860 pounds of armor that I wore. "Stay behind me," I ordered, not wanting Autumn to act as a bullet sponge if there were more Mutants inside there.

I heard her slosh behind me. We quickly got to the entrance, which was elevated about two feet above the layer of water that had seemed to coat the outside. We went up the stairs.

I then kicked the doors off their hinges, keeping the newly-found shotgun level in case of any morons who tried to attack the armored SPARTAN-III that had already killed 25+ of their brethren.

Thankfully, no mutants were there. It seemed to be a lobby of some sort. Directly in front of us was a desk with a couple of chairs behind it, and off to the side, there was a hallway that ended in an elevator. A quick sweep of the office revealed nothing of importance, and when I looked on the odd-looking computer-looking piece of tech, it just had a memo and an 'Office Supply Order.'

I ultimately decided that there was nothing worth looting on the first floor, and after about a couple of minutes of fiddling with the elevator, I couldn't manage it to work. The only way we would be able to reach the second floor was to climb up through the elevator hatch and climb up a completely vertical, flat-faced wall. And from the looks of it, Autumn was already winded with all the walking we had done today.

"You have a weapon, right?" I asked, not seeing her 10mm pistol anywhere. "Broke it while I was hiding. Got in a spot of trouble with some sort of rat, and firing it would have alerted the mutants, so I pistol-whipped it," she smiled sheepishly, rubbing her forearm. "So you prefer melee?" I asked, coming up with a few weapon ideas.

"It's definitely easier," she responded, taking a seat behind the desk that had served as reception two centuries ago. I nodded, deep in thought. I mentally asked my armor's built-in "dumb" AI to pull up a schematic on how to make a melee weapon on any of the materials within my view. It quickly pulled up a schematic on a sort of large knife, and highlighted several objects, probably containing the items I needed to create the weapon. I quickly grabbed an exposed pipe and ripped it off a water-system.

Water gushed out of the hole for a second, then quieted down to a small trickle. I quickly recognized the metal as inferior to my titanium combat knife, so I was able to use it to create the shape of a blade in the pipe's framework. For some reason, pipes in this area weren't as thick as they were back home. I'm guessing it was due to lack of material shortage, since I had come across a few notes and log entries on the computer-looking tech to at least guess that this world had been suffering from some sort of resource war.

I quickly sharpened the edges to make the metal useable for slashing and stabbing. After about ten minutes, I had managed to make the cut-out piece of pipe into a fairly decent heavy combat knife blade. I quickly grabbed a wood piece that would accommodate Autumn's hand, and tied it to the blade, completing the weapon. "Here," I told Autumn as I handed her the knife. She hesitantly held it in her hand, as if holding it would make someone attack her.

She relaxed after a moment, then tucked it away into what seemed to be a sheathe in her vault suit. Maybe it was a modified pocket. I wasn't really curious at the moment. "Well, we better go and look for some place to set up camp," I grunted. Autumn nodded in agreement, standing up.

 **0-0-0**

We had set up shop in the wilderness, near a small town that had only contained three houses, two stores, and a couple of other places. I would've asked Autumn the name of the place, but she seemed to be in an emotional state right.

I had started a large fire, which was still small enough to give us the courtesy of not being detected. I had taken a couple of torn tarps from the houses in the small town to create make-shift tents. I had also created a crude perimeter using fairly large boulders to surround our camp, only allowing a narrow entrance.

"What's your name? Your _real_ name," I heard Autumn ask, out of the blue. I swiftly mulled it over. For now, we would be traveling together for the foreseeable future, so I had to build up an amount of trust between Autumn and I. From the lessons taught to us from a young age, we were told to trust whomever we were working with, or else it would come back to haunt you later in your life. I had originally snorted at the lesson, still set on being defiant to whatever they were trying to do to us. After a while, I had learnt it was true. There was no such thing as one-sided trust. There was either mutual trust or none at all. None meant that Autumn would never feel truly safe around me, and that I would never be able to leave her alone for long. Then again, if I _did_ leave her alone, she could scamper off to someone after pretending to be an ally, and then betray me by telling them sensitive information.

She only asked for my name, though, and that wasn't really information that could be used against you. I sighed, conceding.

I walked over to the fire, sitting down on a rock across from her. "Listen. We're going to survive together for the foreseeable future, and during that time, we'll have to trust each other," I grunted, vocalizing my prior thoughts, and, honestly, this was coming a bit too fast for my liking, but hey – I'm put into a lot of situations that don't fit my liking, "So for every fact I give about myself, you have to tell me one about _yourself_. Sound fair?"

Curiosity burnt in Autumn's eyes, along with surprise at the fact that I had decided to concede. She slowly nodded. "Alright – my name is… Antonin," I said, stopping slightly to remember my real name. I had been used to being called by my codename, Aero, that I had all but forgotten that I had a birth one. It actually stung a bit that I had practically forgotten my name, but I was a SPARTAN. And I dealt with pain like a SPARTAN – burying it.

"Suits you…" she said thoughtfully, "Feel free to ask any question."

"What was your husband like?" I asked politely, pulling out my knife and starting to fiddle with it using my thumb. I had those types of quirks. I had been called 'The Psycho of the Beacon' during my stay on the aforementioned UNSC ship. These types of habits were the only factor that had given me this nickname, as in reality, I was in no way, shape nor form, a psychopath.

Her eyes became misty, and I feared for a second that I had wandered into too personal a boundary, until she started talking, "His name was Waylon, and he was an odd fellow. He had jet black hair, mocha eyes, high cheekbones, and freckles dotting his cheeks. He was like no other. We met during high school, became a couple, got married, and had a baby. A little bit after that, he went off into the military. After 11 months of service, he came back just in time for Halloween, Christmas, and New Year."

I knew better than to interrupt, but I just had to ask, "You can _leave_ the military?" I thought the only way to leave service was to be killed in action, or disappear. I never knew that you could've left service alive.

"You didn't know?" she asked, intrigued. She seemed to have forgotten about what she had been telling me. "We were told the only way to leave the military was in a body bag," I grunted. She cringed, in either disgust or shock, I couldn't tell. "You mean SPARTANs had never taken leave?" she asked incredulously. I nodded in response.

"I'm disgusted by this UNSC," her face contorted in rage. "Calm down. What's done is done. And, technically, I'm on leave right now," I reasoned with her. I honestly was. In a way. I was not actively in the military at the moment, but my mission stood. That was my primary directive to massacre those… abominations of humanity, the Super Mutants. She seemed to calm down, but I wondered if I was really the reason.

"Alright, my turn," I grunted. She asked the question I least expected, and one I had been dreading; "What do you look like?"

 **AN: Well that was a long one!**


End file.
